Death Found the Dragonborn
by Snowbird94
Summary: The story of the final act of the Dragonborn's life; as sung by his second wife upon Paarthurnax's back. She sings of his defeat of Alduin, she sings of his rise to power. Long live the King. Long live the Dovahkiin.


Death Found the Dragonborn

As sung by his Second Wife on Paarthurnax's back

Chapter 1

The news of the High Queen's ill fate traveled swiftly through the country and by the time it had reached Markarth, the King's Steward had already decided on Heddvi Silverblood as her replacement. This girl was not, in fact, the daughter of the Jarl, but instead the progeny of a very rich man. While Skyrim was still mourning High Queen Arana and recalling her deeds of valor, the Steward of Windhelm was kept busy with letters back and forth from Markarth with this one very egregious problem: the Queen had not bore the Dragonborn King any sons. There _had_ been one tiny daughter ransacked from her mother's womb before her time and had frozen to death in an ice cave while her father shouted down hungry dragons in her name. The little Princess had not lived though her first nameday, and so that name was lost to the knowledge of the people.

The High King himself would have no business with the affairs of Heddvi Silverblood. He sat in his chambers gloomily and shouted away any man or mer who walked through his door. At least until the night his Steward, the Court Wizard and several Thanes informed him of his engagement. That particular evening he had only stood there calmly and quietly; frozen as if under a witch's spell. He then nodded his head and dismissed them. By the next morning, the Dragonborn had vanished.

* * *

Heddvi had been asleep near a cool spring with a damp rock as her pillow when Gallop's large, wolfish tongue scraped her cheek. It was the saliva in her eye that woke her.

"Ugh, dog." Gallop barked with joy and began to chase her own tail in celebration.

"You've been called to Father's study," her brother's voice said from her right. He was a sight to see, standing there with his armor and his hammer in the sunshine; there was a slight shimmer charming his steel.

Heddvi yawned, "I said I wouldn't be back until su"-

"The High Queen has died," Vigrod interrupted solemly, "the Dragonborn has buried her at the Throat of the World."

The spring bubbled by them happily.

"She rests in Sovvenguard now, she was mighty and brave," This was what she was taught to say when someone important had died.

Vigrod frowned at her, his eyes telling her that she was foolish. "Our family has been summoned to Windhelm."

"I imagine Father and Mother will be wanting to pay their respects…"

"There will be no funeral, as is the Dragonborn's request, but still we are called to Windhelm…dress warmly." This was all Vigrod said before he stalked away, his armor clanking awkwardly with each step down the mountain. Gallop chased after him, nipping at his heels.

That evening in father's study, the head of the Silverblood clan sat reading letters grumpily while Heddvi waited patiently outside his door.

"Come in," came his low grumble. Heddvi pushed on the wooden door and stood up straight like she had been taught. She had been sure to plait her hair in intricate braids wrapped around her head like a golden crown, and had slipped into her best dress with her chin turned out nobly. As it turned out, her father avoided her look completely and began to speak down into his ledgers while informing her that the Queen had indeed died and that she was now engaged to the High King and was to bare Skyrim an heir.  
"Engaged to the Dragonborn himself, congratulations." Her mother said forcefully next to her. Her parents told her that she had every one of their blessings and that they expected her to be on her best behavior. Her father's immaculately brushed beard covered a chin that wavered with emotion when Heddvi just nodded shortly and said "I understand." By the time it was all over her father had finished nine bottles of mead and Heddvi had been ordered to bed.

* * *

The next morning six horses had been prepared for her family and two guards. Vigrod himself led the party on his pale steed, constantly calling for Gallop, though the pup refused to leave Heddvi's side.

"Hounds are wise." Heddvi said to him. "She senses my change in future."

Her father complained more than her mother did. Heddvi complained not at all, and Vigrod thoroughly enjoyed the journey while the two guards laughed quietly at Vigrod's ill fitting armor, calling it a broken drum that jangled loudly.

"It's almost as if the Gods themselves watch over this journey," her mother said softly to her husband when they had reached Whiterun stables without incident. "Don't jinx us woman," he cussed at her.

"Look!" Vigrod shouted, pointing up towards the highest peak she had ever beheld, the Throat of the World.

"Let me take your horse, my Lord." A stable hand called to him.

"I'm no Lord," Vigrod retorted. "Look at the dragon on that mountain, man!"

"Yes, that is Paarthurnax," the stable hand answered. "He is mourning the High Queen with his words."

There, on a high peak, perched a dragon, speaking in tongues that poured snow and rain onto civilization below. Just then the dragon let out a great sound that caused a terrible wind to terrorize the tundra, causing Heddvi's braids to fall into her face.

"There! A rider." She said with a mouthful of blonde hair.

"Aye…that be the King himself. Your horse miss." The stable hand did not seem perturbed at all by the beast. Heddvi gave him her reigns.

That was the first time Heddvi ever laid eyes on her husband, only a small figure on a leviathan of the sky. To him she must have been an insect of no consequence.

That night, the family were guests to the Jarl of Whiterun. They ate his meat, drank his mead and slept in his beds. The Jarl and her father laughed loudly together at current political issues; throwing their hands up into the air and shaking their heads. The Jarl's wife complemented her mother on her jewelry and her mother complimented her on a good household. Vigrod chewed too loud and fastened his chest plate poorly and so each bite he brought to his mouth was audible. Heddvi said very little at all.

When the moons rose, Heddvi could not sleep. The pillows were much too soft, the bed much too sunken, and Gallop was restless all night; whining emotionally at her feet. Heddvi rose and padded bare foot to the Great Porch, looking up towards the sky. She could make out more than one dragon as they made noise, sending chills down her back.

"It's a mighty cold night, my Lady," a small female guard said to her quietly.

"I'm not-" but she stopped, not only would she soon be a noble woman, she would be a _Queen_. Standing there hugging herself and listening to dragon songs, _this_ moment was was the first time she was able to wrap her mind around it. She, Heddvi Silverblood, High Queen of Skyrim. She had never even thought to question this. Why hadn't the High King asked to marry the daughter of a Jarl? A princess from another kingdom? Why Heddvi particularly? Her father's money, no doubt. Perhaps the country had run up debts and marriage into a wealthy family was carefully calculated.

The Jarl of Whiterun had a daughter, granted she had not yet reached her tenth birthday, but the King could wait, couldn't he? Certainly becoming a queen was nothing to cry about, but leaving her home and family completely behind for a life of responsibility? And what's worse, in the shadow of a great, strong Queen. The only person who had been on greater adventures than the Dragonborn was his wife. The Queen Arana had been taught dragon speech and had shouted down one or two dragons at her husband's side when they were still only lovers. She had slain giants and trolls and there had been rumors that she had dabbled in black magic and assassinhood. Heddvi had never even lifted a sword.

She began to breathe too quickly, as if she had sprinted a long stretch; her hands grasped at her forehead. She was drowning in astonishment.

"First time you have ever seen a dragon?" The guard asked concernedly. "They are a sight to see."

"No…no I have seen them before; just none so noisy." Heddvi gave out a small laugh.

"Ah yes, they are mourning the Good Queen Arana," there was distinguished sadness in the woman's voice, which only made Heddvi feel all the worse.

"The world is a different place now Alduin is destroyed, the remaining dragons follow Paarthurnax now. Why," the guard looked at her, "you must have only been a babe in a crib when that all happened!"

Heddvi nodded, " I was born the day we proclaimed ourselves free from the Empire."

"It is a new age." The woman agreed, "please excuse me, My Lady." The guard lit her torch and walked away.

Heddvi listened to the dragons high above her, speaking great words and making mighty winds blow.

She allowed herself one single tear, hot and salty, to flow down her cheek. She would permit no more. She swallowed and left the flying mourners to themselves, Gallop softly skulking behind her.

The day they reached Windhelm, Vigrod's sense of adventure was lost and her mother and father had exhausted themselves with squabbling. Snakes of queasiness were in her belly at their first glimpse of the castle, barely visible in the snow filled air. Vigrod shivered in his armour, the guards slapped their horses rumps impatiently, and then finally, they arrived.

When the great doors of the Castle opened, she expected him to be there, towering above her, just as she had imagined. Her imagination of his looks only originated from the coins minted with his face on them. But she had only heard rumors that he was tall, powerfully built, and that his voice deep and powerful, perfect for the dragon tongue.

But the High King wasn't there. There was only a skinny, nervous looking man who proclaimed himself his Steward. He graciously welcomed them to the Palace of the Kings and bowed particularly low to Heddvi, saying how glad he was to meet her, and wished her great joy with the King.

"Where is his Majesty?" Her father asked. The Steward avoided his question and began to outrageously complement Heddvi on her beauty. "What pretty dark eyes you have, what silky blonde hair!"

A few female maids were seen walking around in the shadows behind him, trying to sneak a peak at Heddvi Silverblood. The Steward bade them to follow them to their chambers, anxiously bouncing along on his stockinged feet.

She could hear the maids whispering as she followed the Steward to her own chamber, which was, noticably, _not_ near the King's chambers; but instead a quaint litte room with a large roaring fireplace and a small girl sitting beside it, waiting for her.

"This here was Queen Arana's handmaiden," said the Steward, smiling painfully, " Audhild, this is Lady Silverblood," the Steward quickly left the room, leaving Heddvi and the girl alone.

The girl looked at her almost reproachfully. She eyed Heddvi's golden hair at the top of her head and frowned.

"Queen Arana wore her hair down, like the wind, she always said; the High King won't like it like that." Audhild stood, she wasn't very large, her skin looked rather sallow and her hair was unneatly kept. She had the look of a depressed person. She reached for Heddvi's hair as if to untie it, but Heddvi's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. The girl gasped.

"I am not High Queen Arana of Windhelm," Heddvi stated very quietly, but tinged with poison. Not unlike she had heard her father do when he was displeased with a foreman of a mine that hadn't kept their monthly promises of silver. "Nor am I even a Lady. My dress may cost more than your life, but my father's father was a miner and a common man. My mother's father, a farmer. There is no blue blood in my veins, but you still must ask before you touch me." Heddvi was unsure of the appearance of her face, but it felt tight and sinister. She was surprised even herself.

The handmaiden started to quake and pulled her hand away as if placed in a boiling pot. She squeaked an apology and scurried out the door, letting Gallop and Vigrod in as she left.

"Never in my life, sister, have I seen that much command or malice in you." Vigrod said, astonished.

"Malice? No, only maintaining respect for myself." She took a deep breath and smoothed her dress.

Gallop went and curled herself at Heddvi's feet, sighed once and promptly fell asleep.

"The hound stays with me." Heddvi said to her brother, it was the second command she had made in her life. He only nodded and said, "Of course, your Majesty", a grim, but proud smile on his face.

"Stop that," she insisted. But she was grinning as they descended to the great hall.

* * *

The Steward entertained them at dinner. They had racks of lamb, lavender dumplings, mead and embershard wine. Vigrod and the guards drank plenty and made merry loudly with each other, her brother still oblivious to the Markarth guards scathing opinion of him. Their mother watched her son like a hawk, raising an eyebrow every time a guard said something halfway indecent.

And quite obviously, the King was still not there.

When the meal was coming to a close, Vigrod drunkenly stood and raised his horn of drink in Heddvi's direction, "To my sister, the future Queen! May she reign quietly and loudly."

"Sit down, boy." Her father barked at him.

"Bah, Father"-

He was interrupted by a very loud bang on the roof of the palace, as if something rather large had landed there. Then an absolutely terrifying roar. Vigrod squelched and choked on his dumpling; Heddvi's mother spilled her drink. The Steward gave a sigh of relief and stood straight up with hands in the air and shouted:

"Thank the Gods, he's back!"


End file.
